They walked unhurriedly through the forest, the donkey's hooves crunching over the thick layer of fallen leaves, making a soft, rustling sound that was both fragmented and gentle.
Sunlight filtered down through the gaps in the branches and leaves, weaving a dappled golden net on the ground. When the wind blew, those patches of light swayed with the foliage like scattered bits of gold, making one's eyes dizzy.
Leah was holding Ugly Duckling.
From time to time, she reached out to touch the vines hanging from the branches. As her fingertips brushed past the dew-covered white flowers, they picked up a sweet fragrance, making even her breathing feel refreshed.
Ugly Duckling flapped its bald wings in her arms, its sharp beak trying to peck at the ginkgo leaves that had fallen into her hair. The wind stirred by its wings brushed against Leah's cheeks, making her giggle. Her laughter was like a string of silver bells, echoing far through the woods.
Little Bottle was unusually quiet as he led the donkey, though he had an orange-flavored lollipop in his mouth. The stick poked out from the corner of his mouth, swaying gently with his steps.
He occasionally looked down at the melting frosting on the lollipop, then looked up at the surrounding trees like a satisfied Squirrel, his very footsteps exuding leisure.
Gwof sat on the donkey, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the patterns on the reins.
The forest was filled with the fresh scent of greenery mixed with the damp smell of earth after rain. Occasionally, bird calls drifted from the treetops, as clear as the tinkling of a mountain spring.
He had intended to close his eyes for a moment of peace, but the wolf ears beneath his hat brim suddenly twitched—
There were footsteps.
It wasn't the sound of their group: not the rustle of the donkey's hooves on leaves, not the crackle of dry branches under Little Bottle's soles, and certainly not Leah's laughter.
It was a steady, somewhat relaxed set of footsteps, one step after another, treading on the half-foot thick accumulation of fallen leaves, producing a very faint rustling sound.
Gwof sat up straight instantly, the gaze beneath his hat brim suddenly sharpening like wolf pupils lighting up in the dark night.
He raised his hand to signal Little Bottle to stop, his finger making a quick shushing gesture at his lips, a movement as fast as a gust of wind.
The mouth holding the lollipop froze, and Little Bottle instinctively clamped his mouth shut, even stopping the motion of chewing the candy.
He followed Gwof's gaze toward a patch of swaying bushes diagonally ahead. The branches and leaves were shaking violently in the wind, as if something living was hidden there.
Leah also stopped laughing and huddled closer to Gwof's donkey while holding Ugly Duckling. Her small head tilted up slightly as she whispered, "What's wrong? Is there a wild beast?"
Her voice was kept very low, carrying a hint of imperceptible tension. Ugly Duckling in her arms seemed to sense something too; its flapping wings stopped, and it huddled into a dusty gray ball.
"Don't move."
Gwof's voice was even lower, as if squeezed through his teeth, but his gaze was locked onto the bushes ahead, his breathing becoming light.
The wind in the forest seemed to have stopped; only a few withered leaves spiraled down with a soft rustling sound.
The footsteps grew closer, the rustling carrying a rhythmic pace, as if measuring the distance through the woods.
Finally, between two ancient trees that would take two people to encircle, a dark figure slowly appeared. Veiled by the shadows of the foliage, it wasn't clearly visible, but one could tell it was a person—tall and straight, with broad shoulders, walking unhurriedly toward them.
They stood there silently. Even the donkey seemed to sense the subtle tension in the air, obediently lowering its head with ears drooping, no longer swishing its tail. Only its nostrils occasionally puffed out two trails of white vapor that dispersed into a fine mist in the sunlight.
A silent tension filled the air, like the stillness before a thunderstorm. Even the birds on the branches stopped singing, as if holding their breath in anticipation.
A moment later, the dark figure stepped out from behind the tree, his form gradually becoming clear—it was a man wearing a dark gray cloak. The edges of the cloak were somewhat worn but washed clean.
A hood covered most of his face, revealing only a well-defined jawline and thin lips, the corners of which seemed naturally curved upward.
A shotgun was slung across his back, its barrel polished to a shine and glinting coldly in the dappled light; the stock was wrapped in a layer of non-slip cowhide.
On his other shoulder, he carried a bulging canvas backpack. Half a water bottle peeked out from the side, presumably containing prey or dry rations.
The man didn't seem to notice them until he got closer. His footsteps came to a sudden halt, and a flash of surprise crossed the eyes under his hood, as if he hadn't expected to encounter such a peculiar group in the depths of this dense forest where even woodcutters rarely came.
But he quickly composed himself and raised a hand to lift his hood, revealing a very handsome face—deep-set eyes with slightly upturned corners, a high nose bridge that looked meticulously carved, and healthy wheat-colored skin, likely from constant travel.
A polite smile played on his lips, softening the sharpness between his brows.
"Hello."
He spoke first, his voice deep and pleasant, like the wind blowing over a stone stream, carrying a natural gentleness.
"It's a pleasure to meet you. May I ask where you are headed?"
His gaze lingered for a moment on the hat Gwof was wearing, then swept over the bald Ugly Duckling in Leah's arms with a flash of imperceptible surprise. Finally, it landed on the reins still in Little Bottle's hand and the lollipop sticking out of his mouth. A hint of a smile rippled in his eyes, devoid of any malice, seeming to be pure curiosity.
Gwof's gaze was like a tethered arrow, firmly locked onto the man. When he spoke, it was with an unquestionable sharpness: "You haven't said who you are yet."
The man stopped in his tracks upon hearing this.
The light of the setting sun leaked through the gaps in the trees, casting patches of light and shadow on his face, making those eyes look exceptionally bright.
He smiled and raised a hand to brush the grass clippings off his cloak, his movements steady and unhurried: "My name is Ben."
He paused, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the backpack strap—the strap was worn white and frayed at the edges, clearly having been gripped countless times.
"I used to be a hunter. Now, I am a Traveler."
Gwof stared at him for a long time.
The man's eyes were as deep as stones soaked in water, exuding a steadiness forged through wind and rain.
The calluses on his hands were distributed in a unique way—thick on the palms and finger pads, and even more so at the base of the thumb and index finger. At a glance, they weren't just from holding a shotgun; it looked more like he frequently dealt with fine objects like bowstrings or a Carving Knife.
But for some reason, seeing Ben's travel-worn appearance, he suddenly remembered a fairy tale he had read in his past life called 'the vegetable dish of transforming into a donkey'.
The protagonist of that story had once been a hunter, and later obtained two treasures: a cloak and a bird's heart. Thus, he became a Traveler.
He looked at him. Very handsome. He should be that protagonist, right?